Thursday, June 27, 2013

The... *Dramatic Pause* ...Rec Center

     A couple years back, when I lived in Idaho, me and a close friend went to the local recreation center. I will keep this friend's name withheld, since his name spawned a couple jokes. Poor guy.

     We pretty much just screwed around the whole time.

     First, we went swimming. The pools were awesome, we totally dominated at in-water basketball, and nothing says "I'm a teenager" like abusing the little kid's slides.

     After we were wrinkly enough to pass off as both California raisins and old men, we got out.

     The hallway to the changing room is stupid. The floor is tile, which I get it. Tile is used in bathrooms. But, very few drain were actually placed into the ground, so once you were wet, you were pretty much screwed.

     Somehow, my friend managed to keep his footing. I think that his feet somehow wrinkled in just the right way as to perform as suction cups. If not, it's just further proof that he is indeed a squid, a personal belief of mine.

     I, however, was not so lucky. It was as if my feet and the floor were dating, and the floor decided to kick my feet out... from underneath me. This is ironic, since my feet should've been doing the kicking.

     Heh. Heh heh. Punny.

     A towel and a bruised tail bone later, we found ourselves in the second story of the building testing out all of the exercise equipment. Treadmills, stairs, treadmills, a bike thing, treadmills... Everything is a treadmill to me.

     I think it's a waste of money to have a "stair" machine though. I mean, we literally took the stairs to get up to the stair machine. Redundant much?

     We decided to try running the indoor track after we got bored with the machines. I know, from a running machine to a running place. Big whoop.

     I just found the track odd. At most schools that have a track, one lap is a quarter mile. This makes it easy to do different round distances, like 1.5, 2.5, etc. etc.

     For whatever reason, the designers made the track one fifth of a mile. This makes quarter and half miles impossible, a fact that annoyed me. I mean, half miles actually can mean something. But .4 and .6 just make people say "Were you drunk?"

     After we nearly stepped on this lady's chihuahua (dogs need to run laps too), we made our way downstairs again. More accurately, we found ourselves next to the weights area.

     I was thirteen. The sign next to entry way clearly said you must be fourteen, or have adult supervision.

     Uh oh. Ethical choice time.

     As I've said before, I looked old for my age, so theoretically I could get away with doing the weights. But I felt morally inclined to not break the rule.

     If I was the one reading this story, I'd be telling the author that he already nearly stepped on a chihuahua and stole a kid's slide. Lifting some weights barely makes a mark at this point.

     Now, that is what runs through my head. Then, I felt like I'd be kicked out of the rec center. So I let my year-older friend go do stuff while I watched.

     We played a little basketball afterwards, and then decided to call it a day and walk home.

     As we walked down the busy road together towards our houses, this extremely attractive girl leaned out of the passenger window of her speeding car and simply yelled at the two of use, "Take your shirt off!"

     We did what came naturally to us. We began to argue about who she was talking about.

     The whole walk home, we bickered about whether she was asking my friend or me to take off our shirt.

     I have a confession to make. As I revealed in my last post, I somewhat lethargic. That was an exaggeration, since I'm really not that bad off. But I argued with my friend for quite some time, convinced it was me...

     It was him. She was talking about him. If my friend every reads this, and he knows who he his, I admit it. I was wrong.

1 comment :

  1. that sounded like it hurt hitting the floor.Bro don't be hitting on girls yet....or floors.(snicker)